


From the Top

by The_Math_Hatter



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Will add more with more plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Math_Hatter/pseuds/The_Math_Hatter
Summary: Henry Stickmin has been here before. Fifteen times, as a matter of fact, and the last one was the worst. Hopefully I can convince him that this one is the best.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. Bank to the Past

(You know, I always found it strange how so many stories started with “Once upon a time”. Be more specific.)

Cycle 16

(It had to happen somewhere, and some point.)

August 7th, 2019, 14:00 UTC-7

(Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve always wanted to know all the gritty details.)

18 mi SW of Mesa, AZ

(Exactly what the author was thinking while their world unfolded.)

A portal opens up on the Western side of the Bank, and shoes fall out, attached to a human.

(Oh! I guess I should do my job now.)

This is Henry Stickmin.

“Hey! Are you alright? You good?”

Henry turns over, face to the sun, and slowly sits up. He looks at his hands briefly, and then collapses into them, crying softly.

“That’s a no.” I trudge over to him, and sit down next to him. “Are you okay if I hug you?”

Henry pauses, then looks to his side. Naturally, he sees right through me, not because I’m metaphorically transparent, but literally.

“I’m not a ghost, I’m just the narrator. Well, the new one. Come here.”

Henry’s a fair hugger, and based on the marks he left on my back, he desperately needed it.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I know. Charles is still alive now. You’re okay. You’re back at the Bank. Also, ow.”

He moved back and started to talk, but I shushed him. “I can hear you if you focus hard enough. You can hear me, see me, and feel me, but no one else can. Now, go ahead.”

[Sorry about the grasping. I just… I’ll be okay. I think. God.]

“I know. Now, if I recall, there’s two things in your pocket I am fascinated with: your day-journal, and a letter.”

[There’s not a- Oh!] He reached into his pocket and did indeed pull out a battered journal and a letter.

“Let’s open that thing up, I haven’t read it yet.”

To Henry Stickmin,

I am extremely pleased to announce, as a low-level intern at the Center for Chaos Control, that this ending in what you have dubbed “Completing the Mission” will indeed be your last. Congratulations! Now please hurry up, get all the fails in only Mission, and then tie things up with a bow. I’ve had enough of the bigwigs breathing down my neck. You are very hard to keep track of.

Sincerely,

Zentaro

“Yes, it’s what I thought. Good. What’s the combination you haven’t done yet?”

[Government and Allies.]

Oh dear reader, you know the joy I felt when I heard those words. I had to temper it though for our stickly friend.

“Should be interesting. Come on, let’s get you in that bag of yours.”

\- .... . . -. -.. .. ... .--- ..- ... - - .... . -... . --. .. -. -. .. -. --. 

Did you know that it’s hot in Arizona? It’s hot in Arizona. Especially in the middle of summer a couple hours after noon with no shade.

[So, you’re the Narrator?]

“Yeah, I guess. It feels kind of weird.” I shifted Henry’s arm higher up my back as we leaned on each other, walking up the road to the bend where the van would come into view. “Like, you’re very real, but, for example, I can choose to feel the heat or not. Lord, it’s hot out here.”

[Must be nice for you. This is where I usually do it.] He collapsed onto his knees, and from within his jacket pulled out a bag with the words “Property of West Mesa Bank” printed in black ink on it.

“Wait, is that the right bag?”

[Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?]

“Well, I uh… I thought it just had a gigantic dollar sign on it. Y’know, like a cartoon.”

Henry gave a slight smirk at that. [That’d be funny. But this isn’t a cartoon or anything. So, I climb in, and you tie up the bag.]

“Oh, that’s why nobody could figure it out how you tied it from inside.”

He gave a wink and finger guns. [Exactly.]

I don’t have a lot of experience putting people in bags, but if that was cooperation, it’s a miracle it ever happens at all when it’s less cooperative. The time in between Henry going in the bag and the van rolling in through the dust like a mirage did give me some pause for reflection though.

I went to sleep, blinked, in and out, and I was in this kind of white void. In the void, there was a simple table with a book on it. I didn’t read much of it, admittedly, because I know the Henry Stickmin series, at least I thought. When I put the book down, I was in Arizona. And soon, so was Henry.

I really wished I’d read the book more in-depth now.

The truck trundled to a stop, and even though I knew that Winston and Ted couldn’t see me, it was instinctive to take a few steps back.

“Eh? How did we lose one? Wait, no, how’d anybody lose one?”

“I dunno. Maybe a latch got loose somewhere. We should still try to throw it in the back.”

I was very apprehensive when they picked Henry up, but they didn’t seem to notice much about it. As I walked closer, to hop in the back too, I noticed that both of the guards were rather sweaty and exhausted. I guess the vans weren’t air-conditioned very much.

The ride back was much faster than the walk out, thankfully, and once the bags were all unloaded, including Henry, it was eerily quiet. I could even see the laser, and pass straight through them without tripping any alarms.

Henry did not have such luck.

“Freeze! Put your hands up.”

It took about ten minutes for the police to get all the way out here, which I suppose isn’t that bad. During that time, Henry consistently didn’t answer, being selectively mute and all. By the time the cops had showed up, the guards had figured out what his signing meant and informed them accordingly.

As Henry was handcuffed and slid into the back, I just climbed in over him. It was the most bizarre thing, climbing into a police car of my own volition, fully aware that I could leave at any time with no consequences.

I spoke to Henry now. “So. Escaping the Prison?”

[Yup.]


	2. Less than Solitary Confinement

We finally trundled up to West Mesa Penitentiary about ten minutes later. 

The Janitor was already at the door, handing out water bottles. “Hey Johns! Who’ve you got?” 

“Good question. He’s a mute, so we haven’t gotten his name yet. He’s docile enough though.” the black-haired one seemed more in charge, taking the bottles and distributing them around. I walked in front of Henry and made a big pantomime over not being given water, pleading, pacing, mouthing angry epitaphs, the whole nine yards. He grinned a little.

“Okay, let’s see. Write here.” The black haired one reached over the counter and pulled a form up, pointing to the line at the top next to “Name”.

Henry carefully printed “Henry A. Stickmin”.

John look at the name, looked back at Henry. He sighed. “I’ll look him up, you keep an eye on him.” As he walked away, he muttered to himself “Stickmin. really? What’s next, we drag in Hugh Mann?”

Henry simply smiled to himself, and his grin only increased when he heard a muffled “...huh.” from the back.

“Well, Grits, looks like that’s his real name. Age?”

Henry wrote down 26 with no hesitation, and the John with the paper, John Farn by his nametag, nodded. “Okay, that checks out. I’ll write up the rest, you get him in his cell.”

The brown haired one, John Grits, escorted Henry to a nearby elevator. As we went up, John started some small talk. “Y’know, they always say ‘anything you say can and will be held against you,’ but that’s not really gonna come up with you, is it?”

I chimed in. “Well it’s not for you.” John, of course, couldn’t hear, but Henry gave a single chuckle.

“Yeah, this should be a pretty open-and-shut case. We’ve got you on record, first felony, and all the surveillance. All this is just formality.”

Henry nodded, not quite in the sincere way, but implying “Oh sure, of course,” as one would with the knowledge that things would go wrong very soon. This intrigued me.

“Well, here we are.” It was the fabled cell at the end of the hall. A barred window showed Henry the desert outside. Inside the cell was very Spartan. “When we get that write-up, we’ll be back with your regulation jumpsuit.”

Henry gave a thumbs up as the door closed on him, then went to lie back on the bed.

[Oh man. You haven’t seen this part before, have you?]

“Actually, no.” I liked it better when it was just the two of us. More conversational, genial. Less having to worry about making Henry look insane while his face changed at nothing. “What goes wrong? Don’t you get locked up for like a month or something?”

[Bingo. Just wait, it’s great. Anyway, before we get into all that, do you want me to fill you in on some of the other timelines?]

“That’d be great. Apparently what I was given wasn’t entirely accurate.” As far as I knew, this was a lie. The book could’ve been perfectly accurate but I walked away far too soon, cocky.

[Well, the reason I broke into the bank, the real first time- God it seems so long ago- was because I was really short on cash. Desperate, yeah, but to be honest I didn’t really look that hard. It’s a bit of a thrill. And I’ll be honest, when “rob a bank” presented itself as an option, I got blinded to all the others. But that first fail was something else…

\- .... . . -. -.. .. ... .--- ..- ... - - .... . -... . --. .. -. -. .. -. --. 

In retrospect, stacking many explosives on top of each other was not the smartest plan, especially round, highly sensitive ones.

Henry honestly thought that was it, that was the end, he’d made a dumb mistake and payed the price. And yet, he wasn’t greeted by fluffy clouds, or hellfire. He was greeted with a small interface.

[What the… am I dead?]

“Nope!” Henry couldn’t tell where the voice had come from, but it sounded definitive. Commanding.

[Are you God?]

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m just… the Narrator. There’s a story to tell with you, Mr. Stickmin, and I assure you, it doesn’t end with you blowing up half a bank and yourself.”

[Oh. So I messed up. And you’re giving me a second chance?]

“Yep! Just wind things back a bit-”

The sky moved slightly, a ghostly image of Henry raced around backwards, putting explosives back into his pocket. And then there was a sudden stop. He was back in his own body, and the Narrator was still talking.

“Try again. Pull something different out of that jacket of yours.”

[I don’t even know how to work this thing.]

“Here. I’ll give you some ideas.” There was a rustling, like different papers where being shoved around, and then a master list on simple lined paper appeared in front of Henry. It had on it shovel, explosives, which had been crossed out, and then laser, wrecking ball, teleporter, and disguise.

[Well, apparently I missed the shovel. It’s worth a try.] Henry smacked around the inside of his pockets, but nothing happened.

“Really focus, and just reach in and pull it out.”

Henry took a deep breath in, and pulled out a shovel. He immediately held it above his head, shocked it worked. And then he immediately began digging. Eventually he hit something, and fumbled around for a lighter. It was a gas main. Boom.

“I thought I told you not to blow yourself up?” The Narrator didn’t sound too peeved, just minorly inconvenienced. “This might take a while.”  
Henry tried every solution in order, each one imparting just a little more bruising. [Ow…]

“Okay, you’ve tried everything else. Bag time.”

Suddenly, Henry found himself up the road. “Hop on in.”

[Will this even work? Nothing else has.]

“Hey. You’re still alive. Give me a bit of credit.”

It was dark inside the bag, and after the Narrator tied it up, Henry had no idea what was going on. Being thrown in the back and then into the bank was disorienting. It was all he could do to wiggle out and stand up, only to be almost immediately arrested.

\- .... . . -. -.. .. ... .--- ..- ... - - .... . -... . --. .. -. -. .. -. --. 

[And that was just the first time breaking in. The second- Oh, he’s back to break the news. Look alive.]

I turned around as Henry sat up. John Farn was indeed there, looking distressed. “Well, Mr. Stickmin, it’s the strangest thing...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who, me end a chapter on a cliffhanger? Never.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello AO3. I've heard you've been having a couple problems with green block man, so allow me to introduce white stick man. Oh, you already know about him. Well this is awkward.
> 
> The additional characters are entirely the creation of the fantastic Melon Salts on Youtube and Instagram, who also runs ending-the-cycle on Tumblr, a fantastic webcomic I highly recommend.
> 
> This is my first fic posted here, so please be whatever the opposite of toxic is. Enjoy!


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